Ashes
by Drakkenfyre
Summary: Tragedy strikes the crew of USS Voyager and the survivors must learn how to deal with their feelings, before the disaster repeats itself. Warning: Contains subject matter that may be difficult for some.
1. Default Chapter

Ashes **By Drakkenfyre** Part 1 

For once, Voyager was peaceful. Unfortunately, peace was contrary to her adventurous Starfleet nature and conflicted Maquis heart. A month had gone by since the last crisis or event and on the bridge the officers tried their best to stave off the boredom. 

"So Tom, Harry, what do you two have planned for our next social event?" Captain Janeway asked. 

Harry shrugged and Tom replied, "Well, Captain, we seem to have run out of ideas." 

"We've worked on it," Harry justified, "but there doesn't seem to be anything that's sparked the crew's interest." 

The captain turned to her first officer and asked, "Has Neelix submitted that report on crew morale?" 

Quietly, he replied, "Yes and the news isn't good. The crew is having difficulty adjusting to long periods of inactivity." 

"There's plenty of work to do," Janeway said with a frown. 

"Yes, but all of it largely routine." He lowered his voice even further; "Remember, Kathryn, the large Maquis contingent was never prepared to be away from home this long, and frankly, neither were most of the Starfleet crew members. While we have set up peer support groups to help some of the crew deal with the stress, we don't have a trained counselor on board." Then, with his voice barely a whisper, "The loneliness is taking its toll." 

Before she allowed herself to read too much into that statement, she replied, "Then let's run some battle drills. Coordinate them with Commander Tuvok." 

The silence on the bridge continued until a voice came over the comm system. 

"Commander Tuvok," began a shaky and distressed voice, "it's Ensign Parker. You'd better get down to deck 6. And you should probably bring the captain." 

A crowd had already gathered around the room, but they stepped aside when they saw their captain approaching. They said nothing and not one of them could meet her eyes. In single file Tuvok, Janeway, then Chakotay passed through the door. What had happened was not immediately discernible. There were four bunks in these quarters and the usual assortment of personal items strewn about. A desk in the corner was cluttered with several pictures in frames and various personal mementos. A small, central coffee table had exotic dried flowers that Janeway mused could have only come from one of the away missions. Turning her attention to the area that a security officer was examining with a tricorder, she saw the sheets of two beds had been knotted together into a rope of sorts. Janeway realized with horror what she was looking at. Visibly shaken, she turned to her first officer, but he was oblivious to anything but the scene itself. 

Tuvok broke the silence; "Ensign Parker, report." 

A young man in uniform stood from his secluded chair in the corner. His cheeks were red and his jaw was shaking. "I—I responded to a call from Ensign… Ensign," he stopped to clear his constricted throat, "Ensign Safadi. It was Ensign Kellerman. We transported him to sickbay, but he was already dead." 

"What about Ensign Safadi? Where is she?" the captain asked. 

"She's in sickbay, too. They had to sedate her." At that he began to sob. "I'm sorry, Captain." 

Chakotay signaled one of the bystanders to come over, then interjected, "There's no shame in crying, Mike." 

The bystander whispered to him, "Come on, Mike, let's go back to your quarters," while leading him out of the room. 

"Tuvok," Janeway said, "if you need me, I'll be in sickbay. Commander, you're with me." 

They journeyed to sickbay in silence. Chakotay gambled one look at Kathryn and saw that her usual tough exterior was not standing up as well as it usually did. Though most could not discern the difference, he had come to know her well over the years. He could feel the shale-covered slope she was on, but he knew she would not accept comfort, even from him. 

The scene in sickbay was a troubling one. Numerous young crewmembers took turns between sitting near a sleeping woman and crying over the body of the dead man. Oblivious to everything but their pain, no one noticed their entrance, save the doctor. 

"What happened?" Janeway asked, earnestly. 

The Doctor paused, then began, "By the time he was transported here, it was too late. Nikolas Kellerman had been… hanging for over two hours. I'm sorry, Captain. There was nothing to be done." 

She turned to the doctor and asked, quietly, "Nothing to be done?" Then louder, "Nothing to be done? One of my crew is dead, but there was nothing to be done." 

Dismissing the doctor, Janeway spared one last look at the body before spinning on her heels and leaving sickbay. 

Chakotay wanted to pay his respects to the newly dead, but seeing Kathryn abandon the room, he decided that the needs of the living took precedence. He could not see where she went, but he supposed that she would retreat to one of her sanctuaries to regroup and rebuild her defenses. 

"Computer, location of Captain Janeway?" 

"Captain Janeway is in turbolift one." 

"Destination?" 

"Bridge." 

After a brief ride in the turbolift, he entered her ready room without ringing the chime. Her chair was turned away from him. 

"I'm assembling the senior staff in ten minutes," she stated, flatly. 

"You can't just keep it inside, Kathryn," he said in gentle tones. 

"There will be plenty of time for personal ruminations after we have dealt with this crisis, Commander." 

Though he stung at her use of formalities, he continued, "You're missing the point. The personal _is_ the crisis." 

"For your information, I am fine. Now let's deal with the crew." At that, she stood and walked out, leaving him behind. 

The officers seated around the table were sullen and hesitant to speak. Captain Janeway took the initiative and began; "As you already know, Ensign Nikolas Kellerman took his own life today. I am both saddened and disappointed. Disappointed in him for not seeking help. Disappointed in my crew for not seeing the signs. And disappointed in myself for not doing more. This is only the tip of the iceberg. It's time to delve beneath the surface. Suggestions?" 

The doctor was first to speak; "This crew has been under an incredible amount of strain over the years. This sort of constant battering can wear down the best of us. Ensign Kellerman was one of the original Starfleet officers on board, so I checked his file and by all accounts, he was a mentally and emotionally stable individual. He formed secure and lasting relationships with his bunkmates and he participated in recreational activities. But after a time, it seems, the strain became too great. 

"Unfortunately, we do not have a counselor to help people deal with the problems that arise. I can prescribe anti-depressants and other medications for certain individuals, but my limited psychological knowledge would only allow for a diagnosis and rudimentary treatment. As was evidenced by this incident, some members of the crew require long-term counseling." 

"Well, Doctor," the Captain ordered, "whatever it takes, I want every member of this crew to undergo a psychological evaluation. Enlist any help you need. Someone on this ship must have some training in psychology." 

Her senior staff only looked at her in silent disbelief.

"Dismissed."

Part 2


	2. Chapter 2

Ashes **By Drakkenfyre** Part 2 

"The logistical challenges aside, Commander, I feel a large number of the crew will take this as an invasion of their privacy," the Doctor said while double-timing down the hallway after an upset Chakotay. 

"Though we may not agree, she is the Captain." 

Sensing he would not win this sort of territorial dispute with the man, the Doctor asked, "Will you assist me in scheduling appointments that do not conflict with the duty schedule?" 

"Certainly," Chakotay said, thought the Doctor did not believe he was really paying attention. 

Slyly the Doctor then asked, "What are you doing right now?" 

"Nothing that I can't reschedule to get these appointments made." 

"I meant could you come for your assessment now?" 

Crossly, he answered, "Doctor, I'm busy." 

"Not too busy to reschedule." 

In sickbay, the doctor had coyly arranged the chairs in what he determined to be the least threatening and most reasonably intimate positions. Unfortunately, Chakotay stubbornly refused to use his chair. 

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to sit?" the doctor asked, hopefully. 

"Just ask your questions." 

"Okay. Now, some of these may seem silly, but they are all necessary. Do you suffer from any mental illnesses?" 

"No." 

"What day of the week is it?" 

"Monday." 

"Where are we?" 

"The sickbay of Voyager. In the Delta Quadrant." 

He detected some negativity linked with that last statement, so he asked, "Does that upset you?" 

"What?" 

"That we're so far from home." 

"Of course it does." 

"It does seem pretty hopeless, doesn't it?" 

Chakotay narrowed his eyes and stated sternly, "The captain will get us home." 

"Do you trust the captain?" 

"With my life." 

"Do you have a strong friendship?" 

"She is my best friend." 

"How have you been sleeping?" 

Chakotay frowned at this comment, but answered, "Pretty well, I guess." 

"I guess?" 

"Sometimes I have these strange dreams." 

"Tell me about these dreams." 

"They're usually pretty violent. Most of the time they are about Voyager." 

"Tell me about one." 

"Well, we're on the bridge. On the viewscreen is a ship with a people we haven't met before. We make the usual diplomatic overtures and they seem pleased until something we either say or do suddenly upsets them. Without warning, they begin firing. Suddenly the ship is rocking, consoles are exploding, and people are tossed everywhere. The power goes out and the only light on the bridge is coming from the fires and even that is dulled by all the smoke. There is nothing I can do. Then I look down at Kathryn. She is lying on the floor, so I bend down to help her. That's when I can see that half her face is gone… blown off in one of the explosions. At that point, I can't even breathe. I'm frozen, afraid to even touch her. Until they started to board the ship." Chakotay's voice went from distressed to furious. "They had weapons, but I just grab one of them. I throw him down and start beating him. I hit him and hit him, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything. I know that if I can't stop him he'll start hitting me. I keep beating him and all the while I'm getting angrier and angrier for all the things they did to the ship and my friends and Kathryn. That's when I gouge his eyes out…" He seems to catch himself. "And that's pretty much when I wake up." 

The doctor wondered what he was leaving out, but said nothing on the subject. Instead, he asked, "How do you feel when you wake up?" 

"Shaky, still angry, and then I'm thankful that it was only a dream. Then I wonder if something like that is really going to happen." 

"How long have you been in love with her?" 

"What?" Chakotay asked, defensive and angry. 

"How long have you been in love with Kathryn Janeway?" 

"That's none of your business." 

"Does she know?" 

"She'd have to be a fool not to. But she 'defines parameters' and 'maintains protocol' and essentially shuts me out. Not only does she keep me out, she doesn't let anyone else in." Shaking his head, he said, "She's strong, but someday she's going to break down. No one can be strong like that forever." 

"So you worry about her." 

"Of course I do. She's always putting herself in the line of fire. I admire her courage, but someday she's going to go running off with a phaser rifle and never come back." 

"Do you feel guilty for letting her go?" 

"What can I do? I'm only her First Officer and best friend, but I have no control over her. She's going to do what she wants, regardless of the consequences." 

The Doctor pondered for a moment before moving on to a new line of questioning. "How do you deal with your aggressive feelings?" 

"Usually exercise. I box, sometimes." 

"What happens when you have to keep them inside to too long?" 

"Lost. A little spiritless." 

"How often do you feel this way?" 

"Not too often." 

The Doctor did not believe him. 

"Who do you usually box?" 

"Holodeck characters." 

Raising an eyebrow, the doctor probed further; "And when that gets boring?" 

"I go do something else." 

"No, I meant whom do you fight when the holographic characters get predictable?" 

"No one." 

"That's not what a little birdie tells me, Commander." 

"Then just what does that little birdie tell you?" 

"That there are some... extracurricular activities going on in that holographic boxing ring of yours. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" 

Chakotay eyed him warily before asking, "This is all strictly confidential, right?" 

"Of course." 

"I'm not in danger of being relieved of duty if I say anything, am I?" 

"Not unless your boxing gloves appear to you on the bridge again." 

The Commander shook his head at the doctor's attempt at dry humor, then began, "A few of us go down there to blow off a little steam. It's pretty harmless. We use pads and mouthguards." 

"And someone must have replicated a dermal regenerator." 

"Lots of personnel have their own. Even the captain does." 

The doctor squinted slightly and looked across his sickbay. "What in the world does she use hers for?" He paused momentarily before asking, "You mean that lots of crewmembers have their own dermal regenerators? Whatever for? Why can't they come to me? Do they not trust me?" 

Chakotay laughed briefly, then tried to ease the doctor's fears. "I think there are some minor wounds the crew would not want to bother you with." 

The doctor still appeared perplexed, so the commander continued with a slight grin; "Well, I hear Tom and B'Elanna have one." 

"Oh," the doctor said, apparently understanding. He then restarted the questioning with, "So the only serious injuries are the ones I know about." 

"You mean you've known all along?" 

"Though it may appear to be a dysfunctional way of dealing with conflict, I think it serves a function in the social structure of this ship that cannot be effectively addressed in any other way. While I personally detest this sort of thing, I won't be the one to spoil your fun." 

Chakotay nodded respectfully to the man who abhorred violence, but was willing to suspend his own judgment for the sake of the crew. He stood to leave. 

"And Commander, while this assessment may be over, I'd like it if you came in at a later date to discuss the possible meanings of these dreams and to deal with some of your pent-up emotions." 

Only glancing back from the door, he said, "Anything you say, Doctor." 

Somehow, that didn't convince the Doctor. 

"Hiya, Doc," Tom Paris greeted enthusiastically upon entering sickbay for his duty shift. 

"Mr. Paris, so nice to see you. Since we have no patients at the moment, I was wondering if you would come into my office for a talk." 

"Oh, my evaluation? Sure thing," he said, smiling. 

The doctor was thankful for Tom's cooperative nature. Not all of the appointments went as well as this. 

"All right, Tom, you know the drill. What day of the week is it?" 

"Tuesday." 

"Where are you?" 

"Voyager's sickbay." 

"Where was the first NASCAR race and when?" 

Tom smiled, "Daytona Beach, Florida on February 15, 1948. Was that a real question?" 

The doctor smiled; "Not really. Do you have trouble concentrating?" 

"No. Sometimes my mind wanders a bit when I'm bored, but I can always snap back in an instant." 

The Doctor was grateful for this modifier, for all their sakes. It wouldn't do to have the pilot's mind wander during a battle. 

Continuing, the Doctor asked, "How have you been sleeping?" 

Tom grinned devilishly; "Like a baby… when B'Elanna lets me." 

"So I guess I don't need to ask if you've lost interest in sex." 

"No way! And the great thing is, she's just as interested as I am." 

"I'll remember that for her interview." 

"The only bad thing is that I don't think that she'd be into the things I used to do before we got together. She's more of a traditional sort of girl in that area." 

"What sort of stuff?" the doctor asked with his brow furrowed. 

"Oh, you know. I used to be pretty wild. The Delaney sisters and I used to have a great time." 

"Both of them?" 

"Yup." 

"At the same time?" 

"Sometimes. Sometimes one of them would just watch." 

Trying to appear perfectly calm, the doctor carried on and said, "Do you think about that a lot?" 

Nonchalantly, he responded, "Not much any more. But back then I thought about it all the time." 

"Did you want to quit?" 

"No way. It was the highlight of my week." 

"Were your thoughts and plans about it, and the moments right before activity itself, hyped up and intense? Also was there a letdown afterwards, where you feel drained or flat?" After the words escaped his mouth, he regretted their obvious textbook sound. 

Tom eyed him suspiciously, "That pretty much sums it up, except that I didn't feel down after." 

"How did you feel about it?" 

"I enjoyed it. It was exciting, that feeling that you're doing something 'bad'." 

"Did it go against your values?" 

"Not mine, but I wouldn't want my father or the captain to know, if that's what you're asking." 

"Have you discussed any of this with B'Elanna?" 

"No, but I'm okay with what we do." 

"Are you? Do you still fantasize about the things you used to do?" 

"Well, sure, sometimes." 

"Have you tried to introduce small components of your fantasies into your relationship with B'Elanna?" 

"Oh, she wouldn't go for that." 

"She seems like a passionate person. What if you just brought it up as a neutral subject in conversation? You could gauge her response that way. If it's positive, try leaving some silk scarves by the bed; she might take the initiative. You never know, she might be thinking the very same thing." 

Tom smiled and said, "Thanks, Doc, I think I'll give that a try." He then stood to go. 

"We aren't finished." 

"There's more?" 

"Just a couple more questions. How did you get along with your parents?" 

"Fine. Well, I was always in trouble with my father. Then again, everyone was always in trouble with my father." 

"Even your mother?" 

"Yeah. None of us could ever do anything right." 

"How was your parents' relationship?" 

"They were always grumpy around each other. I don't think they ever had sex. Maybe if they paid a little more attention to each other, it wouldn't have been so hard for them to pay a little attention to me." 

In the ready room, Janeway was once again staring out at the stars. 

"How are the assessments going?" she asked the Doctor. "Whom did you recruit to help you?" 

"Crewman Togam, who has three years of psychology from the University of Victoria." 

She paused, then asked, "Why didn't she complete her degree?" 

"She said she was worried that she'd be arrested by the 'Thought Police'." 

"And she's the one you have assessing the crew's mental health?" 

"I'm sure she was just joking. I've noticed over the past few days that many of the crewmen most able to cope with this extremely deep space assignment have developed distinct personality quirks. For example, Ensign Parsons has memorized the entire Kregthor opera, though he does not speak a word of Klingon; Crewman Robertson refers to herself entirely in the third person and Crewman Yosa, in times of great stress, spontaneously breaks out into song." 

The Captain shook her head. "They certainly have a strange sense of humor. Let's hope that's the extent of it. How much more time do you need?" 

"With the extra help, we should be finished in four days." 

"Good. I expect a full report." 

"As full as I can make it, without violating anyone's confidentiality." 

"Of course. I just want to know the general mental health of the crew." 

They both stood a moment, saying nothing. 

"Anything else?" she asked. 

"When are you going to make an appointment?" 

"I assure you, I'm fine." 

"Your orders were clear. I expect to see you Thursday at 09:30." At that, he spun on his heel and left before she could object. 

B'Elanna's quarters were disorganized and dimly lit, which the doctor noted was perfectly normal for the Chief Engineer. 

"Hit the pillow," he ordered. 

"I'll do nothing of the sort," B'Elanna proclaimed with the usual amount of indignation. 

"But it's part of the exercise." 

"It's a stupid idea." 

"I want you to unleash the anger that you are not usually allowed to express." 

"What good will that do?" 

"Just trust me. The pillow is your mortal enemy. Now hit it." 

She shook her head then feebly went through a striking motion. 

The doctor shook his head and said, "That was pathetic. Are you going to ignore everything I have to say? Will I have to make this an order? I don't want to have to talk to the captain about this, but..." 

Suddenly, from somewhere deep within her torso, Torres began a growl, accompanied by a motion that was too fast for the eye to follow. The result was that the doctor, with no actual mass, was flung back. Unfortunately, his mobile emitter, which actually possessed mass, tended to stay in the same place. The two separated and the doctor disappeared. 

"See, now you're getting in the spirit of things," said a disembodied voice that filled her quarters. "Of course, if you had come to sickbay like I asked, I could be a little more useful at holding this pillow." 

Torres thought for a minute, then said, "How about a compromise?" 

On the holodeck, the doctor was having second thoughts about this active form of assessment and therapy. 

"Catch!" B'Elanna yelled. 

The doctor turned around just in time to be struck in the chest by the butt of the Bat'leth that B'Elanna had thrown to him. 

"Ah!" was all he managed to squeak out as he fell backwards into the dirt. 

Torres bent double in laughter. 

The doctor appeared indignant. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop laughing at my expense. Would you chortle at another crewman's misfortune that way?" 

She shook her head and replied, "No, but any other crewman would have been injured. Only your ego was bruised. Pick up the Bat'leth and let's get started." 

"Okay, but I want you to know that I detest violence in any form." 

"Objection noted. Now this program is a little something I use when I need some light exercise. Computer, engage program at level one." 

Five minutes later, the doctor was running for his life, followed by a Klingon warrior, a Romulan soldier, and a Bolian seamstress. Yelling as he jumped from ledge to ledge, the doctor conceded his position: "All right, Lieutenant! I pronounce you fit for duty. Now, shut this thing off, if you please!"

"Whatever you say, Doctor," she replied. On the next stop, the ledge disappeared beneath him.

Part 3


	3. Chapter 3

Ashes **By Drakkenfyre** Part 3 

Neelix sat across the desk from the doctor, in the strategically placed chair, with his hands folded politely. This made the EMH immensely happy that someone finally accepted the situation and sat in his underused chair. 

"Okay, Mister Neelix, let me get this straight." The doctor re-examined the PADD. "Your whole family was killed horribly, the love of your life left you, you may never see another Talaxian again, and you, like everyone else on this ship, has been exposed to some horrifying events. How do you maintain your optimistic nature?" 

"Why, it's quite simple, really. I surround myself with friends. It's pretty hard to be sad when you have people who care about you all around." 

The Doctor was not convinced. He leaned forward across his desk. "Are you sure you're not just burying your feelings? It takes an amazing degree of emotional maturity to deal with trauma and remain the man you were." 

"Doctor," Neelix began, "I know I don't have all the answers, but I can say for certain that I don't keep anything bottled up inside. You know me, I'm always talking to someone." 

"But do you have any deep, stable relationships with any of the crew?" 

"As a matter of fact, I do. There are lots of people I can talk to when I'm down. Sam Wildman, for one, has helped me through some particularly bad times. Especially after my own struggles. I did tell her, eventually, that she helped save my life by showing me that every life has meaning, even if I couldn't see it at the time. She listened to me when I vented my anger at the universe and held me when I cried for my sister, but most of all she was just there. And with Naomi, it's nice to be needed. I'm like the uncle and father figure she doesn't have right now. That means more to me than anything. We all go through bad times, Doctor, but if we have good people around us, we can get through anything." 

The Doctor thought for a moment before rendering his verdict. "Neelix, your past may be rife with emotional struggles, but I dare say that you have developed amazing coping mechanisms. You are one of the most emotionally balanced people on the ship. Keep up the good work." 

"Why, thank you, Doctor," Neelix said with a smile radiating from his face. Then he added, "Oh, by the way, have you noticed how Commander Chakotay has been acting lately? Not meaning to pry, but he seems to be in pretty bad shape. You should see how he's doing." 

Worry lining his face, the Doctor said, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll look into it right away." 

"Now, Mr. Tuvok, I hope you realize this is just a formality," the Doctor said, apologetically. 

"You have your orders," Tuvok enigmatically replied. 

"First, I was wondering if you had noticed anything odd about Chakotay's behaviour." 

In that tone of subtle Vulcan exasperation, he said, "The Commander has been late twice already this week. While not totally uncharacteristic, it is odd." 

"I'll look into it, thank you. Also, when you speak to the Captain, would you please remind her that we do have an appointment tomorrow." 

"Of course, but she will resist your attempts at an interview." 

"Oh, I know she will," he sighed. 

They sat in silence, until the Doctor said, "Actually, I'd like your advice. What's your take on the situation? I mean, you have so much experience as a security officer." 

"My 'take' is that this is a rare, but known occurrence throughout human culture in general and Starfleet in particular." 

"So you've seen this before?" 

"Yes. Two other times, both on starships, though the phenomenon is not restricted to space." 

The Doctor was shocked. "How did the crew deal with it?" 

"Much as this crew is dealing with it. I can offer no useful observations, except to say that the closeness of the Voyager crew, while initially exposing them to the pain of Kellerman's death, can only aid them in their recovery. We must ensure no one becomes alienated during this crisis." 

With a smile of gratitude, the Doctor said, "You are very insightful. I'll make the best use of your advice." 

Tuvok stood to leave the office, but something was still bothering the Doctor. He stopped the Vulcan. 

"Tuvok, if you don't mind me asking, don't you find this whole incident profoundly disturbing?" 

Tuvok turned around, but did not answer right away. After a moment, he said, "No, I do not." 

Shocked, the Doctor asked, "What do you mean? It's all so senseless; at the very least, doesn't that offend your sense of logic?" 

"On the contrary, there is a certain logic to suicide." 

Flustered, the Doctor shot back, "How can you say such a thing? It's a waste of a life, something more precious than all the dilithium in the quadrant. Isn't waste illogical?" 

"Of course it is, but suicide is present in almost all higher life forms, from humans to the Q. Even some Vulcans partake of the rite of ritual suicide in certain, extreme cases." 

"Vulcans taking their own lives? I don't understand. What would be the reason behind that?" 

"When one is afflicted with an illness, one that gravely affects quality of life and for which there is no cure, it is often most logical to end such suffering." 

Shaking his head, the Doctor said, "Well, of course that would be a valid reason, but killing oneself for emotional reasons? Surely there is no justification for that?" 

"Extending the definitions of quality of life and illness, one could argue that if a life consists of nothing but suffering, and if there is no available cure for such malaise, then—right or wrong—there is a possible reason for such an action." 

"But there is a cure for depression! Kellerman could have at least come to see me; we could have figured something out. He didn't have to kill himself." 

Tuvok responded, "True. Ensign Kellerman should have sought you out and investigated treatment options. But, Doctor, there is no "cure" for depression, especially if it is a normal response to abnormal circumstances. I do not agree with his actions, but I do not think Kellerman was beyond reason. He made his own decision." 

Slumping into his chair, the Doctor said, "Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about, Tuvok. I don't agree with you, but I value your viewpoint. And, I suppose you're right. He did make his own decision. 

"Doctor to the Captain." 

A voice filtered through the ready room comm system to jostle Janeway awake. She had fallen asleep while reading reports again, and had been having an awful dream. She was back on Tao Ceti Prime, watching the last tip of the experimental ship slip beneath the surface of the icy water. And it was her fault. 

"Captain, this is the Doctor, please respond." 

Picking herself off the desk, she growled, "I'm not in the mood, Doctor." 

"It's 09:30; time for your appointment." 

This time, she made herself abundantly clear. "Doctor, I am busy. If you don't feel like being decompiled today, you will leave me in peace." 

The Doctor paused for an uncharacteristically long time. Finally he said, "Fine. Then come by anytime tomorrow afternoon."

As his chair experiment was not entirely successful, the Doctor borrowed the couch from Commander Chakotay's office, while he was in a meeting with Captain Janeway. In fact, he was hoping the commander would be there, so they could continue their discussion. The next best solution, he decided, was to steal something so Chakotay would come looking for him. 

On the purloined couch, the Doctor sat a comfortable distance away from Seven of Nine. 

"I find it hard to believe that Captain Janeway intended for me to devote such a large amount of my time on a useless exercise. I am functioning at peak efficiency and I assure you I will not harm myself at any time in the future," Seven of Nine stated without flourish. 

The doctor saw an opening: "Then let's begin with that. Seven, why don't you spend more of your day on personal activities?" 

"I do. Fifty-eight minutes of every day are spent on cardiovascular exercise." 

"Do you ever do anything relaxing?" 

She appeared slightly perturbed as she said, "I do not require relaxation." 

"Everyone needs to relax, Seven, or they burn out." 

Seven appeared confused. "What does this mean, to 'burn out'?" 

"It's a psychological state brought on by stress with emotional and physical ramifications. But aren't I the one who is supposed to be asking questions?" he said in an attempt at levity. 

"I am not preventing you from completing your task." 

The Doctor shook his head. He was rarely sure if Seven got his jokes, because she never seemed to find them amusing. He decided to probe this by asking, "How do you feel about humor?" 

"Need I state that humor is largely irrelevant?" 

"Just 'largely irrelevant? Not totally irrelevant? Why not?" 

"Like many other human social customs, it has a function in their society." 

"'Human customs' and 'their society'; don't you feel you belong as a human being?" 

"I am Borg," she stated simply. 

"But you're human, too. Why do you feel like such an outsider?" 

"Because I am different. My devotion to the pursuit of perfection separates me from others. We are too dissimilar in our goals to ever be compatible." 

"Everyone tries to improve themselves; what makes them so different from you?" 

Her voice was lower this time when she spoke. "Humans are inefficient. For example, the journey to Earth. We would be much closer to our destination if we did not stop to investigate every planet or insignificant piece of stellar dust." 

The Doctor realized he had touched a nerve with his comment. He said, "You have said yourself that you are not looking forward to reaching Earth, like the others are. It's a place you've never known, so why are you now so eager to reach it?" 

For a time Seven refused to answer. The Doctor tried to meet her downturned eyes, but she avoided the contact. He reached across and nudged her chin up with a finger. 

She finally looked at him and said, "Here on Voyager I am unique, and thus I am different from the others. Earth is filled with many unique individuals, so possibly I will not seem so strange to them." 

"Seven," the Doctor said in a sympathetic voice, "are you really trying to say that you feel… lonely?" 

Defensively, she said, "Just because I am alone, does not automatically make me lonely." 

"True," he said, "but as your friend, I think I know. We all care about you, but you never attend any of the social gatherings or interact with the crew on anything other than a superficial level. Your shyness is beginning to disrupt your life." 

She immediately countered, "I am not shy." 

"Then what would you call it?" 

She had no answer. 

"Come," Captain Janeway ordered and her ready room door slid open. 

The Doctor walked in. "It is now Thursday evening. You missed your appointment." 

Not even looking up from her terminal, she said, "I have something more important to take care of right now." 

"More important than your mental health? I could make it an order, you know." 

"Doctor," she nearly shouted. "I am having a personnel problem right now. That is more important than one little meeting." 

"Is it Commander Chakotay?" 

"He didn't show up for his shift tonight. Other than that, I'm not at liberty to discuss…" 

"I know about his problems," he interrupted. "Probably more than you know. But I'm not 'at liberty to discuss,' either." He shook his head. "He has issues, Captain, and most of them are about you. The two of you need to work it out, before a problem arises. For the good of the ship, Captain, find him and work out a compromise, solution, understanding—anything to fix this situation." 

So the Doctor knew. Chakotay's long buried feelings for her. Maybe he even knew the reciprocal nature of those feelings. But now he couldn't keep it inside any longer and she guessed that made it her responsibility. Standing, she said, "I appreciate your candor. And your advice. Dismissed." 

She rang his doorchime, though she had little hope of him responding. Quietly, she spoke to him, "Chakotay, it's me. Let me in." Again, as expected, there was no response. Without hesitation, Kathryn used her security codes to open his locked door. The interior was dark, with the portholes closed and not even the blue night lighting to guide her. Venturing forward, the door shut and closed off the room from the normal sounds of life. Immersed in darkness, she tried to use her other senses to guide her. She could smell his warmth and hear his slow and shallow breathing. He was trying to be quiet, but Kathryn could sense he was awake. 

"Chakotay, please speak to me." After a moment she demanded, "Computer, night cabin illumination." 

By the faint blue lights, Kathryn could see the outline of his body lying on the couch, covered by a blanket. She forced away the feelings that urged her to go to him, take him in her arms, and hold him until all was well. Instead, she pleaded with him again, "Chakotay, we need to talk." 

His voice a whisper, he stated, "Distant, as always." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Anytime you have a chance to really touch another human being with your thoughts and your feelings, you run away." 

He was definitely acting strangely. 

She said, "I'm not running; I'm still here." 

"Are you? Or have you retreated so far inside your armor that the vulnerable human part of you is totally inaccessible; left to whither away and die?" 

Defensively, she attacked, "Look who's talking. You hide in the dark, under the covers." 

"Cowering under the blanket I'm still a more present friend than you." 

"Then come out and face me." 

He did not move. 

"Chakotay, please get up," she begged. 

"Why, Kathryn? Because it doesn't fit into your neat little defined parameters that I just want to take a little break? After all this time, I think I'm entitled. Tell me, Kathryn, why can't I just lie in my quarters for a time and rest?" 

"As your friend and as your Captain, I'm concerned about you, just as I would be for any member of this crew." 

"Any member of this crew!" he raged, sitting up and facing her with a visage of flared nostrils and darkened brow. "I am far more to you than just any member of this crew. What you don't seem to understand is that I am my own person, not just one of your subordinates. You think I follow you because of some unwavering sense of loyalty and that every decision—and every mistake—is on your head alone. But I make my own decisions! I don't just follow you because you're my captain; I follow you because you are right. This may be a hierarchy, but not every mistake, not every misfortune is your fault. Now stop acting like it is and stop treating me like just another crewman. Start to be your own woman, Kathryn and start being the leader—and the person—you were meant to be." 

Much to his disappointment, she stood mute. Sighing, he stood and stalked the length of the room. He picked up his medicine bundle and ran his finger over the leather, tracing the designs, searching for the wisdom to take this challenge to the next level. He knew his friend was in trouble; he knew she must be suffering greatly, but not even the wisdom of his ancestors could show him how to help her. 

His head lowered, not making eye contact, he said, "But all that will do no good to either of us if we can't figure out what's really at the root of your sadness. And we need to, because it's also at the root of mine." 

"Commander, I am not your concern. I am faring quite well, for your information." 

"Oh, by the Gods Kathryn, have you lost your humanity? You were once a very special person and you have the potential to be her again, but not if you keep yourself from caring. You can't shut out life to protect yourself; you'll only destroy everything extraordinary inside you." 

Secretly, she felt the pangs of loneliness that stemmed from her quarantined existence. She fought back the tears that tried to free themselves. She turned away from him. 

"And you hide your secret pain, once again," he said. Forcefully, he continued, "You don't have to be alone, Kathryn. No one can be strong like this forever. Especially when they don't have to be. 

She turned back to him. "You don't know what it's like," she sobbed, "to have them accuse you in your dreams. I'm never safe, not even when I sleep." 

"Who? All the people who died under your command?" 

"I can't even begin to express the fathoms-deep guilt I feel every time we lose someone, but no, they don't bother me like that." 

"Then who? Who visits you in your sleep, Kathryn?" 

Ignoring his pleas, she continued, "I can still feel the chill of the icy water they died in. It steals my breath…" 

"Your father and your fiancé. But that was so long ago. Tell me you haven't been living like this ever since the accident." 

"No, no. I used to be fine, you know. I don't know why it's all come back to haunt me." 

Chakotay turned to her and put his hands on her arms. Holding her there, he said, "Because they never left. You never finished mourning them. You shut it out of your mind for the longest time, but nothing stays buried forever. Nothing." 

Her voice nearly a whisper, she asked, "Then why now, in the midst of all this?" 

Gently, he replied, "Maybe something triggered it, flipped a switch in your mind, but I believe the memories only resurfaced when you were finally strong enough to deal with them once and for all." At that he pulled her into his strong embrace. He held her there, against his chest, as sobs shook her small frame. After a time, he whispered in her ear, "Now is your chance to finally put your father and fiancé to rest." 

"I can't, Chakotay. Some days they're all that keeps me going. I remember the mistake I made on that planet and each time I vow to never make another one like it again. Imagine if I couldn't make a decision and someone else died because of it. I couldn't live with myself. So every day I remind myself that if it comes down to it, I cannot hesitate to sacrifice a crewmember, and that includes you, Chakotay. That's the duty of a captain and that's also the reason we can never be together." 

"Kathryn, in case you've forgotten, I'm Starfleet, too. I took the same oath and I expect to be put in the same peril as any other crewman, but just because I might die, doesn't mean you shouldn't open up your heart to me. I know you don't want to lose anyone else that you love—you've lost too many already—but life without love isn't life at all. You don't have to be alone anymore, Kathryn." 

Instead of an argument, all he got were more tears. He brought her to the couch and rocked her back and forth until she fell asleep. 

Standing in the mess hall, her dress uniform comfortably crisp against her skin, the Captain spoke to the gathered crowd of mourners. Addressing them all, she began her solemn speech. 

"Today we gather to consign the remains of Ensign Nikolas Kellerman to the depths of space. He served faithfully on this vessel for years, but in many ways, we never knew him. Why? I am certain everyone here is asking themselves how they didn't notice anything was wrong or why they didn't do more to make his life easier. I implore you, do not blame yourselves and do not wallow in guilt. Sometimes a person gets so tangled in a web of guilt and self-doubt that it takes a Herculean effort to drag him or her from the depths. But my words are not for those who now blame themselves, but for those who may be living their lives trapped in a prison of isolation and despair. There is one thing you must do. Open yourself up to those around you; don't hide and don't avoid those who care about you. I have learned that sometimes, by shutting out those around you, you are hurting someone more than you can imagine." 

At that, she looked at Chakotay, among the others in a sea of uniforms, and gave a small smile. 


End file.
